Letter
by The Seamonkey
Summary: DH spoilers. Companion piece to main story, 'Stupid'; it's likely it won't make much sense if you haven't read that. James is overcome with guilt over a letter he receives from his aunt, two months after a serious argument between them.


**A/N: Another short companion piece to my main story, Stupid. Third gen James's POV.**

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_It's all my fault._

James sat slouched on the couch in front of the common room fire, feeling like the frown lines on his forehead were so deeply etched there that they would never fully fade. He tore off another piece of parchment from the roll held loosely in his hands, crumpled it up, and threw it listlessly into the flames. He'd been doing that for the last ten minutes or so. Ever since receiving the letter from his aunt. _All my fault._ He had never felt so wretched in his life before; not even when his mother had left the family behind and traipsed off to France for a job promotion. That had hurt. This time, he was the one doing the hurting, at least partially. He glanced down at the top of the parchment. The first few lines were still readable and whole.

_Dear James,_

_How is school going? If I remember correctly, exams are starting to get closer; I hope your professors aren't being too hard on you._

_The reason I'm writing, unfortunately, is to let you know that your Uncle Ron and I are separating. We went letters to Lily and Albus as well, and we've already spoken to Ros_

The letter cut off there, not because Hermione had stopped writing, but because James had torn the rest into pieces. His eyes read the words over and over as he became more and more overwhelmed with guilt and anger at himself, until he finally let out a wordless bark of frustration and tore the remains of the letter into tiny fragments that he shoved towards the fire. Half of the pieces made it in; the others fluttered up in the air thanks to the force behind his movement, and fell slowly to the floor, gently landing scattered on the rug. James—his temporary flare of anger fading—slumped back onto the couch and put a hand over his eyes. _It's all my fault._

"Rough day, huh?"

James groaned. _Why her?_ "Go away, Rory."

"No, seriously. Did your plant try to eat you in Herbology again? Or was it a house-elf? Wait, don't tell me—you broke your Quidditch broom."

"I said go _away,_ Rory. Not now."

"Aww, poor Jamesie," the girl crooned, coming around to lean her forearms on the arm of the couch, grinning wickedly at him. "Was there a bug in your soup at dinner?"

"Shut UP!" James yelled suddenly. He'd had enough. Rory blinked at him in surprise as he turned to glare at her. "Look, just piss off, okay? I'm sick of you taking the mickey out of me all the time! Go annoy somebody else, for god's sake!" he fumed, using her as an outlet for his rage. She'd had it coming for a long time anyways. Rory straightened, looking taken aback and a little embarrassed. James didn't say anything else. He turned back to the fireplace, snatched up his wand, and sent the little leftover pieces of parchment on the rug into the fire. A little vigorous in his frustration he accidentally got a corner of the rug itself into the fire, too, and had to kick it out onto the floor and stamp on it to stop the flames from spreading. He cursed as a smoldering bit of paper burned his foot through his sock.

"_Aguamenti,_" said Rory, and a jet of water sprayed from her wand all over the area surrounding his feet. He yelped as cold flooded up over his ankles and he hopped onto the couch to escape it, glaring. Rory cringed and grinned guiltily. "Sorry."

"Do you exist just to irritate me? Is that what you live for?" he snapped. Her smile disappeared.

"Look, Potter, I said I was sorry—"

"Just leave me alone."

With that, he threw himself back into a sitting position and stared at the fire again, feeling disgusted with himself. He always tried not to lose his temper. Generally speaking, he was a easygoing guy. But Rory Cleaver was singly the most irritating, frustrating and anger-inducing girl in the history of females. James just couldn't stand up against that. Especially not when his favourite aunt and uncle were separating, and it was because of him. The guilt and self-loathing that that had induced had begun to consume him the instant he opened the letter and had only gotten worse since.

"_I don't need you to comfort me," I said, choking on the words. "You're the reason my mum left. You're the reason my dad's all alone right now, and he'd never say a word about it to anybody because he's such a good guy. It was _you_, Aunt Hermione. I—" I broke off into bitter, angry tears. I couldn't force them back into my eyes. My voice got quiet. "I _hate_ you."_

James leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. The memory of that long, angry conversation with his aunt on Christmas Eve only made him feel worse. He had accused her of having an affair with his father. To be fair, it had certainly looked like they were. He had never seen them touch, except once—at dinner, earlier the same night he'd talked to his aunt; their hands had touched when his dad passed her the salt, and she'd reacted so strongly that she dropped it. James was always catching his father staring at her with an odd, distant look in his eyes. And whenever she'd see him looking at her like that, she'd blush and change the topic of conversation, or leave the room, or busy herself doing something else. James had been examining their relationship for years.

It had pained him to draw the conclusions that he had; Hermione was and always had been his favourite aunt. She had been like a second mother to him his whole life. _Apparently she's my dad's favourite too,_ he thought bitterly, and shook his head, still burying it in his hands. The whole thing made him so _angry._ That his father could be in love with his aunt; how she could know that and still act the way she did for years, making him think he might have a chance or something; she'd driven James's mother away because of it. James was sure of it now. All the pain and misery that had befallen his immediate family was because of her.

And because James had brought that to her attention two months ago, now _her_ immediate family was falling apart.

"_Think about what you are saying. Harry is my closest friend. That you could even think that I don't care for him in the slightest is appalling to me." She has a way of making me look at her as she says things, and employed it then. I didn't answer right away. Maybe she deserved this wake-up call, maybe she didn't. Maybe she didn't know what she was doing. Well, she does now._

"_Just promise me you'll stop giving him false hope."_

_She considered me for a moment, looking more hurt than I've ever seen her, and then nodded. "I promise."_

"_Good."_

He hadn't wanted to cause more pain. He'd wanted to end it. _So much for that, I guess..._with a frustrated sigh he leaned back on the seat, and was surprised to see Rory still standing awkwardly by the end of the couch. "What?" he said, barely having enough energy to put venom into his voice. He did manage to glare, though.

"What's, er...what's wrong?" she asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. James blinked.

"None of your business," he replied automatically. Why now, of all times, was she deciding to confuse him by acting like a relatively decent person? She'd spent the last six and a half years getting on his nerves as much as humanly possible. James had, on more than one occasion, attempted to sneak into the Headmistress's office and get his hands on the Sorting Hat, just to try and get Rory re-sorted into Slytherin. He was sure she belonged there anyway. There must have been a mistake during the Sorting that year. James's friend Cameron should have been in Slytherin, too. Cam's mind was so twisted...he was always the one who came up with the best pranks.

Rory hesitated for a moment, then came around to sit on the couch, sideways and cross-legged, facing James. "You look pretty down."

"I said it's none of your damn business. Have your ears stopped working?" He didn't have the energy to deal with her right now.

Rory looked around the empty common room. "I don't see anyone else volunteering to listen to your little problems. Where'd your huge posse go?"

"I don't know."

"Abandoning you in your time of need? Some friends."

Something in James snapped. "I don't _need_ this right now, Rory! Why won't you just _leave me alone?_"

"No wonder everyone's deserted you, mate. You're like a grumpy little gnome tonight. You remind me of my garden at home."

"UGH!" He threw his hands up in the air and got to his feet, intending to go to the boys' dormitory to escape her. Apparently, privacy in the common room was too much to ask.

"Wait, James, I'm sorry," she said as he stomped toward the stairs. "It's just habit, really. I'm sorry. Sit down."

He stopped and turned around. "Why the hell do you care?"

"I dunno. I'm feeling compassionate today." She shrugged and patted the seat cushion in front of her on the couch, where he'd been sitting before. James hesitated. He didn't trust her to stay nice and not conjure a buffalo on his chest once he let his guard down. But nothing ventured, nothing gained.

With a sigh that was a bit suppressed, he walked slowly back over to the couch in front of the fireplace and sat down, feeling more than a little wary of her as he did. She watched him with impassive eyes.

"So what's up?"

"Why should I—"

"Hey, I'm being nice," she said reproachfully, and he stopped.

It took great Gryffindor strength, courage, and self-discipline—and personal honor—for James to swallow with difficulty and say, "Sorry." She nodded silently and waited for him to continue. He didn't. For a long minute or so they sat on the couch, she staring patiently at him, and he staring moodily at the fire, occasionally shooting her a furtive look. He took a deep breath. "My aunt and uncle are splitting up. And it's my fault."

She make a tch-ing sound with her teeth. "I'm sure it isn't because of you."

"It really, really is. You don't understand. Last Christmas—the one that just passed, I mean—I had...sort of a fight, with my aunt, about—some serious stuff, and...I think now she's splitting up with my uncle because of it."

James shot a glance at Rory, who looked a little too understanding for his liking. "People get divorced. It happens. You just have to accept that sometimes. It probably has nothing to do with you at all. When my—"

"But the thing we fought about was sort of _about_ that. I thought—I thought..."

"What?"

He shook his head. He couldn't betray his father's trust like this, not to Rory Cleaver, of all people. "The timing's just too coincidental. Anyway, I think I'm going to go to bed."

"It's only seven."

"I know."

He rose, stretching, and headed towards the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitories. He paused at the entranceway for just a moment and turned his head slightly.

"Thanks anyway."

"Ah, get out of it, Potter."

He felt warmed at her familiar words, and even through the pain and the misery and the awful, overwhelming guilt, he found himself smiling a little as he made his way up the stairs.


End file.
